Eternally Yours
by StarDarknight
Summary: Something's wrong, someone's dying, and everyone from Sherlock to Mycroft is having trouble accepting that a member of the team might not survive very long.


*****A/N***  
**I recently watched The South Park episode "Kenny dies" and my brain being tuned to connect everything to this show of awesomeness, I thought this fic up. Yes, part of it has very similar connections to one of the scenes, no copyright intended.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes stood outside in the rain. Naturally, his coat collars were turned up and a bird flying overhead would see a black figure contrasting with the yellow brown grass. But there were no birds flying today. Why would there be? This wasn't the time to admire the little creatures anyway.

John was inside the building to his left. Frankly, Sherlock had forgotten where he was at that moment. But that was fine; as long as he was alone, he could've been on the moon for all he cared. He briefly wondered why he felt so alone. Then he remembered that it was raining. The priorities of other people sickened him. Just because it was raining, you couldn't come out of a dwelling? Idiots.

There was a reason he wanted to be alone. He always did everything with a reason. That's what he lived for. He loved confusing the Yard and everyone there when they thought he was being cryptic. but he was really just doing what they should've been trained to do. Why did h... _they_ need him so much?

Well, they were going to need him a lot more now. Lestrade told him that a few days ago. Before all this hit the fan.

* * *

"Sherlock," John called.

"What?" he called back. He hoped this was important; these eyeballs weren't going to burn themselves.

"We… um… something has…"

"John, what's happened? Just spit it out... please."

"Um… Lestrade has… He's…"

"Oh, has he gotten anywhere with the serial killer case he brought me in on? Hopefully he listens to what I-"

"Sherlock, he's in the hospital."

That got his attention. He slowly turned around. John's worried expression proved he had heard correctly.

"What's he doing there?" Sherlock said after a minute of silence.

"He's had pancreatic cancer for a while. Nobody at the Yard knew, but he's been fighting it for a while. He… doesn't have much time left. I was going to see him; I thought you'd wanna come?"

"Yes… Yeah, sure. Let me grab my coat…"

* * *

Hospitals were not where Sherlock liked to spend his free time. The coldness of the halls and rooms always gave the place an eerie feel. Some would argue that Bart's was like that as well, but at least chemicals and experiments were available distractions in there. But here, the only distraction was Mycroft's conversation. To his big brother's credit, he actually did seem to be showing slight emotion, even if Sherlock was the only person who could see it.

Donovan came out of the room holding a tissue and Anderson's hand. "Do the freak and his dog wanna have a turn? Or do you have a crime scene to get off at?"

"Oh, is her highness letting me see him or did your cheating boyfriend have to convince you of it?" At this statement, Sally stared at Anderson for a moment before turning back around. But all she saw was the door shutting.

Sherlock, Mycroft and John slowly walked across the room towards the bed. The heart monitor drowned out their approach to the figure lying prone under the sheets. He looked up at the two men and smiled.

"Hey, guys." Lestrade greeted weakly.

"H-hi, Greg," John returned. "How you feeling?"

"Oh, fine, fine, just been… a little under the weather."

"Well, Sherlock and I got you a little something."

"It's a Swiss Army knife."

"Don't tell him what it is, Sherlock!"

"Sorry."

They all sat there for a moment before Sherlock spoke up. "Y-You know, my brother and I were thinking about how, when you're better, Mycroft and you could go camping so that you could use it, right Mycroft?"

This entire time, Mycroft hadn't spoken a word. Though to many his expression would pass off as daydreaming, Sherlock saw a look of pure terror on his face. Suddenly, without another word, Mycroft strode out of the room, silent as a breeze. Sherlock was surprised for a moment, but he quickly recovered and followed his brother out of the room, leaving a sympathetic John and a hurt Lestrade behind.

The consulting detective caught up with his brother out in the parking lot (for a guy that needed a diet, he moved pretty fast). "Mycroft, wait!" he shouted for the fourth time. Only this time, he got a slight response of, "I can't, I just can't…"

"Mycroft, he needs us in there."

"Then go and be there for him."

"And why aren't you doing the same? He's your husband, for God's sake!"

"I just… I can't see him like that, Sherlock. All those wires and machines… He's an officer Sherlock; he should be running around, arresting people."

"Look, however hard you think this is for you, it's a lot harder for him. Mycroft, look at me!" Finally the elder met the younger's eyes. "I know this is tough… but we have to be tough right now." Mycroft instantly jerked his arm away, recognizing those words. "This isn't some dog, Sherlock; it's a human being!" The British Government then got into the black car that seemed to always be at his beckon call.

"Mycroft, you can't leave."

"I'M NOT THE ONE WHO'S LEAVING, HE IS!" Sherlock stood in shock while the car sped off and the reality of the words sunk in.

* * *

Mycroft had been right.

Two days later, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade passed away. He had taken one big breath, one small one, and that was it. His last words had been to John and Sherlock: "Where's Myc?"

The funeral had had plenty of attendants, which didn't surprise the curly haired man at all; many had been touched by Lestrade's help. The whole Yard had come to pay their respects. They were all inside.

Now here he was in front of a grave he knew he would one day see but always hoped he wouldn't have to. He had been staying strong for his brother as well as his reputation, but now his mask was off, and the tears on his face mixed with the rain.

**GREGORY LESTRADE**

**AUGUST 30, 1958 - MARCH 27, 2014**

**A GREAT OFFICER, HUSBAND, FATHER, AND FRIEND**

Sherlock knew it was silly and that Greg couldn't hear him, but he suddenly felt too alone.

"Hi, Lestrade." He was surprised how shaken he sounded. "Um… I-I know that you don't have any children. The stupid funeral staff didn't even bother to check. Morons. But… I requested that 'father' be put on your stone. Mostly because… well, that's really what y-you were to me. I-I don't know…"

"He thought of you as his son too, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice behind him made him whirl around, rain flying off his coat tails. He quickly reassembled his mask. "Oh, hello, brother. How are you?"

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine. You?" He could feel his composure slipping away; he needed to get out of here.

What happened next was something Sherlock never thought would happen. His older brother wrapped his arms around him and cried. Sherlock began sniffing like a child getting picked on. They stayed that way for a while, just trying not to feel alone. Eventually, Mycroft broke away and pulled a ring out of his pocket. "He left this to me, in case… this sort of thing happened." Sherlock saw a little engraving on the inside: "_Eternally yours, until we meet again. GL" "_I…I was never there for him… I never even said goodbye…" As soon as Mycroft slipped it on his finger next to his wedding ring from the same man, he completely fell apart.

"Mycroft…"

"Y-yes, Sherlock?" he managed.

"I miss him too."


End file.
